


American Girl

by wakanda_4evr



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Black Panther - Freeform, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-24 01:08:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14344782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wakanda_4evr/pseuds/wakanda_4evr
Summary: Akira is a twenty-something-year-old ghetto girl still living in a house with her grandma and big brother, and when a foreign country infiltrates her hood in the name of “outreach,” she’s not too fond of the idea. That is, until she starts working for them. After what is meant to be a confrontation, Akira is tracked down by the king of Wakanda to be hired as the official Head of Oakland Area Youth Outreach. The only problem? She’s never headed a thing in her life. Now Akira must juggle the youth of her city, a brother headed down a dangerous path, and feelings for a king she never meant to fall for. How does she balance it all?Find out in American Girl.





	1. Introduction

"Miss, it says here you are a... convicted felon." 

King T'Challa looked up from the paperwork in his tired hands and over at the crazy-haired woman sitting across the table from him.

She nodded quickly in a way that seemed almost spasmodic.

"Yes," she squeaked. Her voice was high-pitched, barely above a whisper and she seemed to be shaking in her seat. "Just a small b-battery charge."

Was she... smiling?

T'Challa stared bemused for a few seconds before finally shaking his head and laying the papers back on the table.

"Alright," he sighed. "Thank you for coming in, we will contact you if you receive the position." 

Of course he was only saying that to be polite. There was no way that woman would ever be hired for such an important job nor would anyone else T'Challa had interviewed that entire day. He had seen almost a hundred people and none of them seemed right for the job. Who knew finding the perfect head of youth outreach would be so difficult?

After the woman left, T'Challa walked toward the window and looked out at the kids playing ball on the blacktop below. He knew those kids were the future and that for them, he was only willing to hire the best of the best.

His train of thought was interrupted by the voice of Okoye.

"I am glad she left, your highness. I was almost ready to charge," she said with a grin. 

With so much on his mind, T'Challa could only halfway return the expression.

Okoye could sense the king's worry and tried to reassure him. "Do not worry, my king. With patience, we will surely find the right candidate."

"Aye," he responded, still feeling defeated. "I suppose we can just try again tomorrow. Let us return home now."

Silently, they trudged back outside and into the hot Oakland sun.

As soon as he was spotted, the kids at the court stopped their game and rushed him.

"Ay look, there he go!"

"Show us the ship, show us the ship!"

And just like that, T'Challa's smile reappeared. If there was anything that could warm his heart, it was the youth.

"Alright, alright," he chuckled and then paused.

"Look behind you."

They all turned simultaneously and lost. their. shit.

"Yooooo!" one of boys exclaimed.

"How does he do that?!"

T'Challa and Okoye exchanged a glance and a smile then stood and watched as the boys marvelled at the ship. A few minutes of waiting wouldn't hurt them. It was only after a few seconds though, that they ceased to be alone.

Like an autumn chill that disrupts an otherwise comfortable day, the whole atmosphere changed.

T'Challa tensed. Okoye braced herself for defense if needed. Their visitor came and stood boldly next to the king, shoulder to shoulder.

For a while, no one moved or said anything, and then finally, she spoke.

"Cute kids, huh?" 

T'Challa relaxed a bit, but Okoye still didn't let her guard down. She trusted no stranger, but wouldn't move unless her king ordered her to.

"Indeed they are," T'Challa replied. He turned his head to look at the woman standing so close next to him, but she wasn't looking his way. Her brown eyes were focused, looking straight ahead. Straight at the ship and the boys and the basketball hoop.

"Yeah, real cute," she repeated. She rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, hands buried deep inside the pockets of her gray sweatpants. 

There was another moment where no one spoke and T'Challa just continued to look at her. It was hard to read the expression on her face and decipher the purpose behind her initiating this interaction. She looked hard, like the concrete beneath their feet. She looked angry, like somebody had wronged her. But her voice? It sounded sweet.

It was she again who broke the silence.

"You know, I just wanna ask you something, king." 

She spat out the word "king" like it had a bad taste in her mouth and then the sweetness was gone.

"I see you on the news, all diplomatic and shit," she chuckled at that last bit. "You say you tryna help somebody. Tryna set up some buildings and help somebody." 

She paused and shook her head for a moment, as if giving T'Challa time to let her words soak in.

"But I just want you to know," she began again, "that you ain't helping nobody."

Now instead of angry, she looked disgusted.

All this time, T'Challa hadn't said a word. He didn't know how to react. Angrily? He had spent his entire day interviewing lunatics just so he could better her community. Confused? He had never met this woman and yet she seemed so repulsed by him and his efforts.

"And what is exactly is the root of your opposition? What has your mind made up in such a way?" he asked her calmly. 

The woman laughed lightly as if there was a silly song being whispered in the air that only she could hear the lyrics to.

Then she pointed at the ship.

"Your answer's right there, king."

For the first time, she turned and looked T'Challa dead in his eyes.

"That ship right there is your ticket outta here, and you get to come and go as you please. Those kids, though? They ain't got no ticket out. They gotta stay here and live and die and watch people die. Ain't no Wakanda for them."


	2. 1

T'Challa

x

"You should have let me get her one good time." Okoye jabbed her spear at the air and scowled.

We had boarded the ship and were now leaving Oakland and heading back to Wakanda. As we drifted toward home, I still could not get that woman out of my mind. The way she stood right next to me and spoke of what she believed in. The way she stood right next to me spoke of the children. It made me think...

"I don't know, General," I said, stroking my beard. "I kind of liked her."

Okoye turned her head toward me in disbelief. "Like her? And so soon? I swear you are a child with your silly crushes."

I laughed. Though I may have had a past with "silly crushes" as she liked to call them, that was not exactly my current agenda.

"That is not what I mean, Okoye," I said to her. "I was thinking more so in terms of the youth outreach program. Do you not think she would make a terrific director?" 

"No," Okoye said firmly, "but I do think this high altitude is getting to your head." 

"Aye," I waved her off and continued my thinking. I had my reasons for considering this girl. She had shown more passion for the youth in one interaction than I had seen in a series of interviews all day, and she was unafraid. Two qualities that could pilot our program in the perfect direction.

Okoye interrupted my thinking once again, this time with a question.

"Your highness, I see you are still daydreaming about this girl," she started. "Say for some reason you do settle on appointing her, how would you even find her, eh? She did not even properly introduce herself."

Okoye was right. The woman did not say her name, but while she was talking, I did manage to get a glimpse at the badge attached near her round collar.

"Her name is Akira," I recalled. "She works at a place called Ivory and we will visit her there tomorrow." 

Okoye shook her head, "And how do you know she will be there, your highness?"

I turned to her and smiled. Her voice was stern, but her eyes deceived her, for I could see the softness that lied underneath whenever she spoke to me.

"I will take my chances."


	3. 2

"Akira, you're late! And I thought I told you to do something with that bird's nest on your head, you can't be seen like that today!"

Another work day at Ivory, another complaint from Jeffery. He was like a mouse; always squeaking and scurrying across the restaurant floors, a nuisance to all.

I rolled my eyes at him as I clocked in by the back door where I'd entered.

6:25

I was supposed to have been there at six.

"I should probably stop doing that," I thought to myself.

As much as I hated the boujie place, I knew I needed all the money they were paying me to wait tables for the boujie men and women who could afford to dine there. The tips were definitely nice too.

As I settled into my shift, I began looking around and noticing the day's vibe. It felt different than usual. Normally things were pretty relaxed, but as I observed I picked up on the chefs nervous head sweat and Jeffery's eyes continually darting back and forth toward the front door. The only time things ever felt off like this was when we had celebrities, but I didn't see anyone famous around as I scanned the room and surveyed the tables. I stopped one of my co-workers to ask him what was up.

"Yo, Bryan," I whispered to him in the kitchen, "what's the deal?"

He shrugged and popped a butter roasted brussels sprout into his mouth. "I don't know," he said with his mouth full. "Some king or something."

One of the chefs shooed him away for picking at the food before shooting me glare just for standing there.

"King?" I repeated out loud.

"Yes," the chef replied impatiently, "King-"

"T'Challa," I finished for him. I'd said it just as the man walked in.

Him again.

Wearing a fitted suit jacket with a kente cloth sash draped over his shoulder, he breezed in and stole every person's attention. 

"Of course," I scoffed under my breath. This is just the type of place he would come and eat while in town. He wouldn't go have fried fish at JJ's or get a street taco from one the food trucks. Yet he claimed he was here to uplift the city. All the while he didn't even care about the culture. What a clown.

He was looking all around as he approached the podium to be seated. For the first time I was actually grateful for Jeffery's attitude toward my fro because now he'd most likely let me sit this one out rather than look "unkempt" in front of royal company.

I was right.

He swapped me and Bryan so that I washed the dishes while Bryan was on king duty. Now I didn't have to worry about anything. I just put my earphones in and scrubbed plates, singing lyrics under my breath.

"I've paid enough of petty dues, I've had enough of shitty news..."

It was therapeutic for me.

When my mom had custody of me and my brother she'd hated cleaning so she always made us use paper plates. It made me feel poor. I wanted to eat from something made of glass; something that was shiny and white like in my grandma's china cabinet. Not something that would get soggy and soak right through if you took too long to eat your greens.

That's why when we moved in with my grandma and she had all those glass plates, I took a real liking to them. I always offered to wash them after meals, just so I could touch and see how they felt. She didn't mind it at all.

I would trade positions with Bryan any day if I didn't rely so heavily on the $500 tips left some nights by drunk business men after one too many celebratory champagnes. Bryan didn't need that. He just worked here so his parents would stop calling him lazy.

I was rinsing a fork when I felt an aggressive tap on my shoulder. I took my earphones out and turned around to see what the big deal was. It was Jeffery standing behind me and he looked like he was about to pass out from nerves. I never understood why he was such an anxious man when he had so little responsibility around here.

"What is it?" I asked him, clearly agitated. 

He gulped and used a handkerchief to wipe sweat from his brow. "The king," he stammered, "the king w-wants you to serve him."

"Me?" 

Why the hell would he request me? How'd he even know I was here?

"Yes, you! Who else would I be talking to?!" Jeffrey spun me around and yanked my dishwashing apron off. He tried to tousle my hair but I smacked his hand away and gave him a look.

"Oh, well just do something to it won't you!" He pushed me out the kitchen door and into the serving area. When he shut the door in my face I could see my reflection in the glass panel installed in the middle.

My braidout was bomb and Jeffery didn't know what he was talking about.

I fluffed it up a bit before grabbing my serving apron and searching with my eyes for the king's table. I quickly spotted him in a lone corner, sitting by himself in a booth next to a window. He had already been watching me and I had to try hard not to let my "what the fuck?" face show itself. So far he was appearing to be a clown and a creep.

I reluctantly walked over to his booth and he stared at me the entire way. I wasn't sure if I was able to hide my expression that time, but if he noticed it, he didn't let on.

I had to be nice just in case Jeffery was watching me - and I knew he was - so I kindly greeted our guest. At least I made it look kind. The inflection in my voice said otherwise.

"Good evening, your highness," I smiled fraudulently. "What a coincidence it is seeing you here again. May I refill your drink?"

"Actually, Akira," he said to me, "it is no coincidence. I came here to speak with you and I want you to sit with me."

This time I knew for a fact that he saw my wtf face clear as day because he frowned deeply.

"Oh, no, please do not get the wrong idea I just wanted to-"

He talked with his hands and knocked over a cup of water.

"My earphones!" I gasped as ice and water splashed all over the front of my clothes. They were Beats earphones that I'd had to save up for forever and now they were soaked. "Your royal elegance is impeccable," I said through gritted teeth.

"I- oh my- my sincerest apologies," he tried to reconcile. "I will replace your earpho-"

"Don't fucking bother!" I cursed, and this time it was my timing that was impeccable because just as I uttered the words Jeffery appeared right behind me.

"Excuse me, what way is that to speak to a royal customer?" He tried not to sound so furious in front of King T'Challa. I could see that he was embarrassed and that he wanted to fire me on the spot.

I thought he'd at least wait. I'd stay late for close and before he left he'd tell me not to come back. That had happened before once, and I came back anyways.

This time was different though. He couldn't wait and he wouldn't. He had to let me go right then and there in front of everybody.

"Akira, I," he stammered once again. His face was beet red and I could almost see the steam pouring out of his ears. "Akira I have no choice but to fire you for your completely and utterly unacceptable behavior." 

I was going to open my mouth to argue. The first syllable was already on its way out, but I stopped it right there.

I looked around at all the the customers waiting for the ghetto Oakland black girl to pop off.

I looked at Jeffery, I looked at T'Challa, and then I looked down at my wet pants and my broken earphones that I had saved up for forever.

After looking at all of that, I decided that there was nothing left to say.

"You know what? Fine." 

I untied my apron and let it hit the floor, and then without a word, I turned to leave out the same back door I'd come in.

"Hey," Bryan said softly as I passed him on my way out, but he didn't say any more than that. He knew that there was no real consolation he could give.

I walked solemnly to my old 2000 Hyundai Sonata and quietly thanked the God I didn't believe in when my engine didn't fail me. I drove the long drive back to the projects in silence until I was almost home. That's when I played that SZA song one more time.

"All I got are these broken clocks, I ain't got no time, just burning daylight..."

♚

When I went to my car the next morning, I wasn't even sure where I was planning to go. I was just going to hop in and ride until maybe I fell off the edge of the earth and then I wouldn't have to worry about a thing ever again. I used to have somebody to talk to about these things, but he was long gone now. I used to have a job, but that was gone too. I was so lost in my depressed thoughts that I almost got in my car without noticing the paper folded and tucked into my windshield wiper. I pulled it out and wiped my eyes to read what it said:

Akira,

I would first like to offer my sincerest apologies for all that occurred last night. It was never in my intention to cause such a scene. I had only come to inform you of what I would like to offer second: A career opportunity within the Wakandan Outreach Program, specifically in the area of youth outreach. I have reason to believe that you would make an excellent candidate for this job. I know my actions resulted in your termination last night, but hopefully this makes up for all of that. That is, if you do decide to come. If you do consider, and I hope that you do, please meet me at the address below for an official interview at noon time today. I look forward to seeing you there.

Best regards,

King T'Challa of Wakanda


	4. Chapter 4

I wasn't going to go.

I even balled up the paper and threw it in the gutter because that's how much the idea was worth to me. He'd found my job, found my house, and now he was going to find himself standing alone because I wasn't going to go. I'd scrape gum from the sidewalks before I had any part of Wakanda's stupid outreach program. Where had they been all those years before? What made them so trustworthy now? I wasn't going to go, and if they needed employees, they were going to have to find another sellout because I wouldn't be the one.

That's what I told myself as I pulled away from my house with the one bedroom and the three people living inside.

That's what I told myself as I drove past a McDonald's hiring sign, knowing it would take a whole lot more than $12.25 an hour to pay the rent and keep the lights on.

That's what I told myself as I went by my old middle school and remembered how we never had good books in class and we never read much outside of it either. Maybe if I'd been supplied with the resources and the motivation to do better, I'd be rich right now. I wouldn't be in this janky car with no job and no dignity. My life wouldn't be such a mess. The teachers hadn't cared. If only there had been someone else who did.

Youth Outreach.

That didn't sound so bad. It sounded like something I could have used myself.

It was 11:57 when I accepted that I was all out of other options and found myself driving toward the address King T'Challa had written down. I would be late, I would be dressed like a seven-year-old boy, but I would be there. That would have to be enough.

I pulled up ten minutes after I was meant to and tried to fix myself as best as I could. There wasn't much to do but tug at my jeans and pull at my hoodie. My sneakers were dirty and my curls looked slept on, but those parts I couldn't change in a parking lot.

"Girlish charm, please come through," I prayed as I fluffed my hair up in the rearview mirror. Then I took a deep breath and went for it.

Just from outside, the building didn't look like much of a space for anything. With windows still boarded and brick crumbling from the walls in some places, you could tell that it had just been bought. I struggled and had to use both arms when opening the gray, metal doors because the hinges were rusted over.

I thought the bright orange color of my hoodie would make my entrance loud, but it was that and the screech of the door together that immediately drew T'Challa's attention to me. For someone who didn't care much for him or his opinion, I was unexpectedly embarrassed. He wore a fitted long-sleeve with threads of gold embroidered along the collar and his two cuffs. His pants were void of wrinkles, starched and ironed for the gods. His shoes didn't have dirt on them.

If he was judging me, he didn't let it show.

"Akira," he bowed his head in salutation. "I almost thought you wouldn't show."

His demeanor was welcoming, but I still felt out of place. He extended his hand for me to shake, but I stuffed mine in my pockets and shifted uncomfortably.

"Yeah, well I'm here." I wasn't sure if I sounded nervous, awkward, standoffish, or like a messy combination of all three.

"Right," T'Challa frowned, pulling his hand back and balling it into a loose fist.

Standoffish. I had definitely sounded standoffish.

"Well, why don't we both have a seat."

He lead me across the room, footsteps muffled by dust on the checkered floor. He pulled out a chair then stared at me for an uncomfortably long time until it clicked that he was waiting for me to sit in it.

"Oh," I went when I realized it. "My bad."

After I sat down, he took a seat across from me then gestured toward all the space surrounding us.

"So," he said, "what do you think?"

I looked around at all the chipped paint, the cracked tiles, and the busted lights. The place spoke what I thought for itself.

"I know there is still much work to be done," he smiled, probably finding humor in my grimacing face. "There are seven floors and we will renovate them all to your liking, Akira. If you take this offer from me."

I straightened up in my seat and slid my eyes back toward T'Challa.

"To my liking?" I questioned. "Why mine?"

"Because I want you to be Wakanda's head of Oakland area youth outreach."

He said it as though it wasn't the most absurd idea on the planet. As if it all made perfect sense.

"Excuse me?" I said, cocking my head forward.

T'Challa dropped his smile then quickly moved in for reconcile.

"I'm sorry if my intentions were misconstrued, I meant not to offend y-"

"I'm not offended," I told him. "I'm just... confused. Why me? I'm not at all qualified."

"I think you are very qualified. For one to a be a good shepherd, one must merely know and love their sheep."

"Huh?"

T'Challa sighed and leaned forward in his seat, his expression earnest.

"Look, all I am saying is that you showed me your passion and your leadership the moment you approached me. You might have been trying to anger me, but what you did was show me that you cared. More than anyone had shown me in interviews for this very position on that very day. We need someone like you for something like this. It is important."

I shook my head and scooted back in my chair.

"Yeah, I know it's important," I said, "that's why I can't do it. Why don't you find somebody with a degree or experience or something?"

"They don't give out degrees on life and your experience is growing up here and knowing what needs to change. Your input and leadership is more valuable than that of any Harvard graduate with fifty degrees for all I care. Just give the program and yourself a chance. That is all I ask."

I looked down at my dirty shoes and pondered. I'd never given myself a "chance" on much of anything. Chances weren't realistic, and in the instances that they were, they were for trying out for the high school basketball team. Not for heading entire programs. I still wasn't sure.

"I- I don't know..."

That's when I looked up and saw his face. I'd never seen so much in one man's expression. I was used to cold glares and passive aggression, but this man was begging with his eyes and he didn't look sorry about it. It had an affect on me and in that moment I couldn't say no. It would break his heart and mine.

"But I guess... I could try."

His warmth returned so quickly I almost felt bamboozled, but before I could say a thing, we were shaking hands and he was telling me, "Welcome to the family. We will compensate you well." 

He handed me a folder and told me when we would next meet. "Just come with your ideas and the rest will be discussed." 

I couldn't match his excitement because I was too far off in disbelief. 

Head of Oakland Area Youth Outreach.

Me.

A twenty-something-year-old ghetto girl still living in a house with her grandma and big brother, who hated the idea of her city being "saved" by outsiders.

That was now me.

I declined his offer to walk me to my car and let it soak in as I crossed the empty parking lot alone. As I walked, a gust of wind blew fiercely and something from the folder dropped and landed at my feet. I bent down to pick it up, holding the folder tight to keep anything else from flying, and that's when I saw what it was:

A new pair of earphones.


	5. 4

I came home right after leaving the interview - if it could even be called that - and went straight to the kitchen. That morning I hadn't ate, sadness leaving me too sick to my stomach to eat the grits and sausage my Granny set out for us each day, and I always ate the grits and sausage my Granny set out for us.

Luckily, it was still in the microwave for me when I got back, right next to Tory's bowl, also left undisturbed. I shook my head as I grabbed his out to heat mine up. Why my grandmother still bothered to cook a thing for my brother I'd never understand. Whatever he ate, he got while he was out there in the streets. Tory never came home at night and he sure wasn't there in the morning either. We crossed paths every once in a while. A "hey lil' sis" here and a "what's up big bro" there, but we weren't as close as we used to be. Not like we were before he started selling.

When my food was done, I grabbed a fork from the dish rack and headed toward the sound of afternoon reruns of Judge Mathis, a.k.a. my Granny's favorite pastime. I leaned against the doorframe of her bedroom and smiled as I blew on my spoon. She looked so sweet sitting up in her purple cotton gown, silver hair strands pulled back into a wispy bun. She had no idea about me getting fired, or hired for that matter. I decided on the ride home I would wait and see how the whole "giving myself a chance" thing played out before I told anyone anything.

"The queen doesn't want to sit on her throne today?" I queried.

She usually viewed her shows from the dark red, time-worn recliner sitting in the living room, but today she was in bed.

"No, not today," she answered, an uncharacteristic liveliness in her voice. "Your brother says he's coming home today and I wanted to be out his way. Says he's coming home for good."

I could see the hope in her eyes while she said it and it broke my heart. Tory coming home for any period longer than fifteen minutes just sounded like a lie, but she believed everything my brother said. I loved him to death, but I'd stopped doing that a long time ago.

"Granny," I sighed, not wanting her to get her wishes up. She already knew what I was thinking and she didn't want to hear any part of it.

"Oh, now you hush up girl, and have some faith. That's was the Lord do; have faith in his sons and daughters."

"Even the Lord's tired of Tory, Granny," I told her, and it was the truth. I could count on two hands the number of times he had claimed to be handing his life over to Christ. I always said one day he would try and Christ would hand it right back. Still, Granny wasn't having it.

"I said hush up," she repeated, sternly this time, one of her shaky fingers pointed toward me. I didn't want to get her pressure up so I hushed.

Then we both heard him coming.

Heavy bass and heavy language booming down the street, getting closer to the windows until they rattled to the beat. Instead of being upset by the shaking pill bottles and the mention of "big booty bitches," Granny just looked me at me with those hopeful eyes again and said, "There goes my grandbaby now."

The music went off and the sound of Tory's heavy footsteps took its place. Neither of us said a word as they got louder and louder, until the front door opened and closed, and he was inside.

"Ayo!" he called out.

"In here," I responded.

He followed my voice and there he came, towering behind me in all of his six-foot-five glory. Granny's face beamed. He was two hundred and twenty five pounds of pure, tattoo-covered muscle, but all she saw right then was her little baby grandson. Even in my frustration with him, my face of stone couldn't help but betray me when he pulled me into a tight hug and said in his voice of gold, "Lil sis. How you been, Kiki?"

"I was good until you called me Kiki," I cringed to hide my smile, but as I looked up at his light-skinned, thick-bearded face, I broke. Tory and I had different daddies, but he looked just like our Mama. Maybe that was the curse that kept him away from us.

"Good, good," he patted my back then started toward Granny. "And how is the queen of the house."

He sang the word "queen" in an offkey falsetto, earning a laugh from the both of us.

"Oh, I'm good baby," she said, pulling him close by the hands and rubbing her thumbs across his inked-up skin. "And I'm glad to have you back."

"I'm glad to be back Granny, and I'm not going nowhere." He looked right as me as spoke, knowing I was the one who needed convincing.

"I know I said it before but I mean it this time, and I'ma show y'all. I'm not going back out there. Them streets ain't the place for a black man."

We all sat in silence, Tory's words settling into the atmosphere. I had nothing to say but, "I'll believe it when I see it," but granny wouldn't have appreciated that so the only thing I opened my mouth for was to take in another spoonful of grits.

"Y'all got anymore of that left?" Tory pointed to my bowl and ended awkwardness.

"In the microwave, baby. Just for you." Granny smiled.

"A'ight then," he rubbed his hands together. "One bowl of that then me and Kiki gonna go play some ball."

♚

The basketball court was only an eight minute walk but Tory still insisted that we drive. "Let's go in your whip, sis."

I didn't argue with him. Mostly because I didn't have the energy. Arguing with Tory was the type of thing that took the wind out of you.

"Where the aux at?" he asked when he got in on the passenger's side.

"Don't have one." I opened up the arm rest to pull out a book of CD's. "Take your pick."

"Nah, I'm good," he declined.

So we drove without music. As we made our way through the streets, Tory wouldn't stop looking over his shoulders. Every stoplight, he looked nervous. I noticed, but didn't say a word until we got parked by the playground. A group of kids ran around the jungle gym, playing with their lightsabers.

"You ready?" Tory had his hand on the door handle, but I stopped him with one question.

"They coming after you?"

He put his hands back in his lap.

"Huh?" He played confused, but I knew he knew exactly what I was talking about.

"Q and his boys, are they coming after you?" I spoke loud and clear.

His silence said it all.

"Goddamnit Tory!" I pounded the steering wheel, triggering the horn.

"Relax!" he retorted. "They don't know where we stay at and I'm trading in my car tomorrow morning! They won't know I'm there. I told you I'm through with that shit, Akira. I'm done. I don't wanna die."

His voice went soft as he spoke the last sentence. He almost sounded like the brother I grew up with, who cried when he broke our Granny's good vase because he knew he was about to get a switch to his behind. I wondered if there was anymore of that boy left in him. I hadn't seen him in a real long time.

"So what you gon' do?" I asked him. "Hide in Granny's house forever? It's not realistic, Tory."

"I don't know," he admitted. "I don't know, but I'll figure it out."

I shook my head. He didn't even have a plan.

"Come on, Ki I don't wanna worry about that shit right now. I wanna play ball with my little sister. Can we go now?"

I didn't respond for while, then I felt a nudge on my shoulder.

"Or you scared to get your ass kicked?"

I looked to my left for the first time and saw him smirking at me, a playful glint in his eyes. By Tory magic, my heart warmed again. I kissed my teeth then grabbed the ball from the back seat.

"Let's go, fool."

"Fool? I ain't gon' be the fool after you get this work. You musta forgot who I am."

He hopped out the car and ran to the court like a kindergartner at recess, waiting for me to catch up and join him. I laughed watching him wave his arms for me to hurry up.

Maybe the boy still lived.


End file.
